This is the chair, and the room, where I nursed you when we first brought you home from the hospital. I spent a lot of time nursing you here, back when I awkwardly put you to my breast and worried about your latch (which was always fine), marvelling at your sheer perfection and miraculousness.
I am having to mark new relationships between our bodies now. You used to press your feet against the inside of my elbow, but that seems impossible now that my elbow barely goes around your bottom, and your feet dangle down by my knee.
Last night was a slight improvement: you only woke up twice, although you screamed and screamed and screamed, and I just laid there with you on top of me, trying not to scream myself or thrust you onto the mattress. Nothing we could do would comfort you.
I'm starting to become immune to your screaming. I can't do anything to fix it, so I've stopped trying.